as it seems
by faithsette
Summary: "If she wakes up and he's carrying her, there's a one hundred percent chance she'll shoot him. Even if she doesn't have her gun on her. The pure disdain she'll have radiating from her body will propel her gun up for her and shoot him on its own." A fluffy post ep for 2x18.


_nothing's ever really as it seems_

* * *

She's still at the loft.

It's been three weeks and her search for a new apartment has been coming along painfully slow. Nothing is right, or close enough—she doesn't need something next door to the precinct, but having to take multiple subway rides to get there isn't at all appealing—or even remotely in her price range, and so here she is. She's tried to leave, to stay somewhere else so she doesn't feel as though she's overstaying her welcome, but Castle refuses to have it. He's gone so far as to have Alexis ask her to stay, which is him playing dirty and it's wrong but she's virtually useless against the hopeful, expectant eyes of little Castle.

Sometimes she forgets that her apartment's gone up in flames, reduced to nothing but ash and dust and charred remains. Staying with Castle wasn't her first choice—wasn't her choice at all—but she has to admit that it's been... _nice_. The awkwardness that consumed the air during her first night has since dissipated, replaced with only a friendly hospitality and daily routines that make it seem as though she's been here much longer than just a few weeks. Castle still protests against her doing the dishes, but she continues to stand her ground. If she's going to be here she won't be sitting around, she'll be doing something to help out.

She doesn't dare admit her enjoyment to Castle, though, refuses to stroke his ego.

But he's been sweet and she doesn't actually mind being here, being with him and his family, who have opened their home to her with such a warm welcome.

She stretches her back, leaning forward over her criss-crossed legs, arms tucked into her chest, until her forehead is on the mattress in front of her. It's not all that comfortable, but she still gets the occasional pain from diving into her tub, and she's learned that if she stretches like this it eases up. So she just closes her eyes and breathes, gives herself a few minutes before she untwists.

"Hey, Beckett," he says, startling her with the abrupt entrance. She bolts up, eyes softening only once she realizes who's standing in the door. "Sorry."

She shakes her head, shifting to settle herself. "What's up, Castle?"

"Alexis has declared tonight a movie night, care to join?" he asks, waggling his brows.

She laughs, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth as she thinks it over. Lounging in his guest bedroom sounds delightful, and maybe even a nice hot bath to soothe her back some more, but he's standing there looking so hopeful—though he's trying to look nonchalant—that she lets out a breath. "Give me a few minutes."

He nods with a smile and backs out of the room, leaves her sitting on the bed, staring at the space he's just vacated.

Despite how nice a relaxing night doing absolutely nothing sounds, she's actually looking forward to this—watching a movie with them, the two Castles. They've had one or two other nights where they stayed up late, watched movies until they were all too tired to put in another one. He says they were all Alexis' idea, but she has reason to believe otherwise.

Her feet hit the hardwood and she stretches, lengthening her limbs before she takes a quick look in the mirror and pads downstairs.

"Kate," Alexis greets warmly, gesturing towards the office. "Dad's already in there. Go sit, I'm getting us snacks."

She smiles, nodding as she turns on her heels. It took a full four days before she finally got Alexis to stop calling her Detective Beckett. She could tell the girl felt odd at first, but she's pretty sure it would've been even weirder having her address her so formally while she's in their home.

After making her way into the room she takes a seat next to Castle, a respectable distance apart, and gives him a soft smile when he tosses a small blanket on top of her. She's not cold, but there's something comforting about having a little blanket on her lap, something to grasp onto. She settles back into the leather couch, scooting over a bit once Alexis returns so she can sit between the two of them as usual.

"Miss Congeniality?" Castle groans, turning to pout at his daughter.

Alexis just shrugs. "Don't even pretend you don't know all the words." His mouth opens but she shakes her head. "Besides, we watched The Blind Side last time, we need something light now."

"And you consider a diabolical plot to murder a pageant winner by blowing off her head _light?_ "

Beckett rolls her eyes. "I'd hardly call that diabolical."

"The real atrocity is in the planning. Did she really think no one would figure out that she practically mauled a previous contestant in order to win? Or that the creepy helper is her son and in on her sketchy plans? It's plotted out so horribly. If _I_ was writing that murder, I—"

"Dad."

He looks at them. "What? It's a valid concern!"

"She didn't _maul_ anyone, Castle," Beckett corrects with a laugh. "The original winner got food poisoning."

"By no accident, Beckett," he says seriously. " _By no accident._ "

She shakes her head. "I'm not discussing the flaws in Miss Congeniality's writing with you right now."

He huffs. "Spoil sport."

"If you're done now," Alexis jokes, raising a brow at her father, who eventually acquiesces. "Let's watch."

The girl gets up to turn the lights off and bring in the bowl of popcorn, which is then placed in her lap since she's the center piece.

Fifteen minutes into the movie Beckett can feel his eyes on her and she sneaks a glance, watches as he looks at her before looking away. She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, and instead keeps her attention focused on the screen in front of her.

"Another thing—" Castle's not-so-hushed whisper travels behind Alexis and to her.

"Watch the movie, Castle."

He grumbles but turns his head away, and she hides her grin in a mouthful of popcorn.

* * *

The credits roll and he sits up, cracking and stretching the limbs that haven't been moved in the past two hours.

"Dad?"

He looks over. "Hmm?"

"Should we wake her up?"

Alexis leans back, revealing the sleeping body that is Detective Beckett, curled into the corner of the couch, her head propped against the back. The blanket is pulled up over her shoulders, her legs tucked into her chest so she's almost in the fetal position, looking much smaller than he's used to.

He smiles. "Probably," he says, looking from Beckett to Alexis. "But I got it, Pumpkin. You go do whatever work it is I'm sure you're adamant about finishing tonight."

She gives him a look and rolls her eyes, but a smile tugs at her lips regardless. "It's an English Lit paper," she admits quietly before leaning in and giving him a hug. "Night, dad."

He watches her disappear into the living room and waits until she's out of sight before he brings his gaze back to the brunette next to him. He knows that he needs to wake her up but she looks so adorable, so peaceful right now. The sight makes him smile, and he takes a few seconds to just admire her—she'd say this is creepy if she were awake but alas, she is not. Her eyelids flutter as she dreams, her long lashes dancing above them, and he watches the rise and fall of her chest, revels in the fact that she's still here, that her heart is still beating like it's supposed to be.

His mind flashes back to the night a few weeks ago, his feet pushing him as fast as he can down her street. Her voice on the other end of the line, cut off only by the ominous _goodbye, Nikki_ of the bomb. Her apartment going up in flames, the sheer fear that ran through his veins while he watched, frozen, as her apartment became ash and dust. The amplified panic when he kicked down her door and was met with fire everywhere and no sign of life for 30 horrifying seconds. The unbridled relief that soared in his chest the second he saw her hand rise from within the bathtub.

He shakes his head, lets those images fall to the back of his mind because it doesn't matter.

She's right here in front of him, alive and well, her chest rising with each breath she takes. He'll be the first to say that she's intimidating, badass, and completely unrivaled in the box. But right now, asleep and curled up, she's soft and adorable. If not exhausted.

He almost wants to take a picture, save this moment on his phone forever.

"Beckett," he says, gently shaking her shoulder. Her eyelids flutter some more. "Beckett."

Her nose scrunches up and she shifts. If that isn't the cutest thing he's seen all day.

"Beckett," he tries again, tapping on her forearm. "Beeeckett."

She groans but doesn't open her eyes, instead coils tighter into the blanket, her hands grasping at the edges. He laughs, standing up straighter as he looks down at her and contemplates what do to. Leaving her on the couch is not an option he wants to consider—it may be comfortable for movie marathons and the occasional nap, but not for a full nights sleep, and definitely not with the position her neck's currently in.

He takes a few steps until he can see through the office doors and then looks from her to the stairs, letting out a breath.

If she wakes up and he's carrying her, there's a one hundred percent chance she'll shoot him. Even if she doesn't have her gun on her. The pure disdain she'll have radiating from her body will propel her gun up for her and shoot him on its own. He's sure of it.

In the end his desire to have her comfortable outweighs his fear of getting murdered should she wake up, so he moves around, deciding what the best course of action is. He puts one arm behind her back and the other under her knees, making sure his grip is secure enough before he lifts her into his arms, blanket and all. It's then that he realizes this is the first time he's had her in his arms, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't love it. Though, next time he hopes she's awake for this. She's barely a weight in his arms, but he shouldn't be surprised; she's thin to begin with, muscle being the only thing he's sure adds most of the weight. He thought her height would've added some extra difficulty, but the only thing causing him some issues right now is the position she's in. And the blanket that keeps getting caught around his legs.

She stirs and he freezes, bracing for the impact he's sure is about to come.

But it doesn't.

Instead, her body shifts and her cheek squishes against his chest. Her breathing evens out again and he lets out the relieved breath he wasn't even aware he'd been holding for those few seconds. He has to adjust her carefully, move her higher up in his arms so he has a better grip; the last thing he wants to do is drop her.

As he reaches the bottom of the stairs one of her arms comes free from the blanket and she exhales, her face snuggling into the space between his shoulder and neck. His breath catches for a few seconds and his heart rate quickens, the sensation of it thrashing in his body all too evident. He recovers and continues, carrying her up the stairs—only just narrowly bypassing a horrific disaster when she curls in even closer and he almost loses his footing—and down the hall to the guest room. He has to kick the door open, quietly, so he can walk in—actively avoiding the dresser and any other sharp corners that could be a potential threat to the sleeping form he has cradled to his chest.

Her face is still in his shoulder, snuggled close, and he can feel her warm breath on his neck, leaving a row of goosebumps in its wake.

He reaches the bed and just stands there for a second before lowering her down. He has Kate Beckett in his arms, asleep, covered in a blanket with her face nuzzled into his neck. Someone should pinch him because he's pretty sure this isn't actually happening.

She shifts again then, alerting him to the fact that this is, in fact, reality.

He places her gently on the bed, careful not to wake or jostle her in any way. Tiptoeing to the other end of the bed, he pulls down the comforter so he can drape it on top of her, make sure the tiny blanket isn't the only thing she has on tonight. She rolls over, fingers gripping at the newly placed comforter, and lets out a contented sigh.

A smile breaks onto his face and he throws one last look to her before he lets himself out and returns to his own room.

* * *

She wakes in the middle of the night, her hands fisted in a sheet and a small smile on her face.

Castle's stronger than she thought.

But the juncture between his shoulder and neck is just as inviting as she imagined.

* * *

He hears her on the stairs and turns, smiling warmly as she rakes a hand through her hair.

The night before isn't brought up, and neither mention how he carried her to bed or how she snuggled into his chest. He knows better than to say anything, but he doesn't miss the smile she gives him as he slides a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her, doesn't miss the shy but knowing glimmer in her eyes when she looks up at him from behind the curtain of her hair.

And he definitely doesn't miss the way she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth when Alexis asks if she slept well.

* * *

 _Inspired by: person A of your otp picks up sleeping person B and carries them to bed and person B snuggles their face into person A's shoulder. I hope you enjoyed, and would love to hear your thoughts!_


End file.
